


Button-eyed Superhero

by vegalocity



Category: Coraline (2009), Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Coraline Story, F/M, Horror, but like not really, escapism gone wrong, eventual body horror, ladrien, rating to be upped as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegalocity/pseuds/vegalocity
Summary: Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.- Neil GaimanIt was black, he would have called it cast iron if not for how light it was. The indentions on the key part didn't look like any he'd seen before, and the hand part—the part you hold while you turn it—was weird. It was filled into a black disk, except for four little holes in a square shape along the middle.It looked almost like someone had strapped a black button onto the key.





	1. Prologue- Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an unknown time between the end of Season 1 and the eventual awakening of the Bee and Fox kwamis

When the sand ran through its usefulness it began to clump together—it turned white and spindly, the consistency of cotton, or at least it would be if it didn't crumble at the slightest touch.

The past doll, depicting a child decades previous—wire glasses and wooden sword strapped to his hip—was carefully cut up, the shirt and pants sliced off cleanly, the buttons where his eyes once were carefully severed, and the stitching of the mouth ripped open to pull out the old sand.

The child previous was a little lighter skinned than the next one was to be, but the inside of the doll's fabric was darker than the outside, so it was turned inside out.

There was something... something that felt almost human, about how it felt to look at the empty shell of the doll. The memory of someone that once was, pushing its way to the surface out of disgust, but as new sand poured into the now pale doll the feeling was quick to fade.

The buttons were shiny and black and a confident smile on the doll's stitched mouth were the last moments of its anonymity. Soon enough the yellow yarn, unspooled to be thick and messy, was sewn into its felt scalp. 

The clothes were a touch strange, a little off of what the norm once was. A splotch of silver paint on the right hand, the hair carefully tousled and the stitched grin just barely teetering the edge between confident and cocky. 

The appearance of the child, both outside and within. 

_Adrien_

Sure, this child was older than usual, but he hadn't been ready to be lured here at the proper age. Now he was. The age wasn't as much of a problem as all that. The dolls just had to be better this time around.

Thin needle fingers lifted the little doll and the window just above the worktable opened.

As though washed away by the tides of an invisible sea, the doll floated away from the grip that contained it and drifted out the window. The false moon above glittered brilliantly as the doll drifted through the air, to the real world—to the child.

Someone new to love.

The child before had been sustaining, and the miss from some time ago still rang in the corners of the realm, but the time had come, and hunger had struck again. The need for more magic, more soul energy, more love.

The rats had been out for some time now, gathering what information they could gather. It seemed Adrien's current life, the one that he would have to reject in favor of the Other World, was quite hectic. Stifling parent—more or less running away every day to live his life—strange floating... _vermin_ with him at all times. He called himself a superhero.

It must be _so_ stressful for such a young boy. He'd probably enjoy a break in paradise. 

The Beldam's cracked face curved unnaturally into a smile of needle teeth, button eyes shimmering in the eternal night.


	2. Fog on the horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But honestly, it really did look a lot like him. It had his striped shirt and white button up—there was a little fleck of silver paint on its hand that he was sure was supposed to be his ring, the messy yellow yarn that was used for his hair was the exact same shade as his own.
> 
> Its little button eyes were the only thing that kept it from honestly looking like a carbon copy of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Beta is my Sib R over on [ newyorktopaloalto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto), go check out their work, they rock.

God, he hated it when Akuma attacked during the night. He supposed he could respect Hawkmoth playing the long haul to wear them down (in that way that you respect your enemies strategies) But does that guy even sleep for how many late night Akuma they'd been fighting lately?

This had to be at least the fourth one this week! It was ridiculous! Did he somehow find out that Chat was in high school and Ladybug had... whatever Ladybug had in the mornings?(also High school? Work? College? Was he in love with an older woman and he'd been falsely assuming she was his age?) And Hawkmoth wearing them down on purpose?

“Chat!”

He cursed under his breath when a wave of the sticky glitter the Akuma had been using to trap people passed just barely over his head. 

“Thanks Bugaboo!” Well, now from his more strategic position, crouched on the ground, he could at least get a clean shot of the Akuma from here.

She was some sort of.... rag doll looking thing. A patchwork of as many different colors and patterns as possible, (and if it were daytime he was sure some of the lighter colors would be grating against the eye) a shaky silver grin stitched onto her face, and her eyes replaced with a pair of shiny black buttons.

The only reason he even knew it was a she was because her head had a crosshatch of thousands of different colored yarns imitating hair hastily glued to its scalp.

She was flinging glitter from the tips of the sleeves of the bright pink sweater that hung loosely on her rag doll shoulders. 

Normally Akuma were pretty goofy looking, or human enough to only be vaguely intimidating, but this one...

_Hooo boy._

This one looked like something out of a child's nightmare. 

She didn't speak, so they didn't know if she had a name for herself. Chat had been calling her Patchwork. He aimed the end of his staff at Patchwork as carefully as he could. She turned her button eyes to him and he threw his staff before she could throw her glitter. Thankfully he was faster. The staff impacted with her stomach and she fell, going limp for a moment before slowly dragging herself back to her feet. The sleeves of her sweater were practically dripping with the tacky glitter. 

Wait...

“I think her Akuma is in her sweater!” He could practically hear Ladybug force a sigh from her lungs in exasperation.

“How are we supposed to get that thing off of her?!” 

As though summoned by his words the waves of glitter returned. He saw Ladybug bat away wave of sparkly glue with her yo-yo, and was just barely able to dodge the next one Patchwork sent towards him.

Okay, so maybe throwing his staff hadn't been the best idea.

He took a deep breath and thanked the heavens above that the adrenaline spiking through his system wouldn't induce him into yawning any time soon.

“Lucky Charm!” he heard his lady call out. He fell back a bit to stand beside her.

A red spotted aerosol can landed into her open palm—he couldn't read the tag from here—but it looked like...

“Spray Starch?” 

“Her body is mostly felt, isn't it?” Ladybug pinched her lips to the side, her entire face scrunching up adorably for a moment before the two of them had to dart apart to avoid another wave of the glittery, sticky goop. 

His lady dodged the sudden attack like it was nothing. She leapt into the air as though she were taking flight and tumbled out of the way.

He was... less than swift.

His tail had been caught in the goop attack (and he took only a moment to curse how long the thing was) and was currently pinning him in the same location. Riiiiggghhhhtt in front of Patchwork. 

She tilted her stitched head at him and he kind of wished that she could talk—the silent staring was considerably more unnerving now that he couldn't get away.

“Ah... hey there! You're not gonna.... trap my body in glue until I suffocate, are ya?”

She took a step toward him and he could see Ladybug from the corner of his eye looking around the area, a plan beginning to form in her head. 

He just hoped said plan went into action before said glue suffocation happened.

Patchwork started walking toward him, holding the sleeve of her sweater out, ready to shoot some glue at him. More likely than not about to trap his ring hand. He tightened his left hand into a fist and, as subtly as he could, hid it behind his back. 

This Akuma had been weird the whole fight. Sure not all of them talked—Horrificator, for instance—but there was at least some sort of indication that there was still a human inside and it was aiming at something. 

But no. This thing seemed to only exist for the sake of sticking people in her little glue traps. 

Slowly, slowly, she continued her approach—and whether she was just doing that for the heck of it, or Hawkmoth, watching from wherever he was watching, just wanted her to drag out the moment, Adrien was unsure.

But it seemed like it was the time Ladybug needed to make up her plan. Seconds before said smothering was imminent, there was a flurry of red and black, glitter glue sparkling against the night air, the sound of an aerosol can being emptied, and Patchwork struggling; the tips of her sleeves were stuck together and held stiffly behind her back, Ladybug holding her down—

—and then with the clatter of metal against stone he felt the pull gluing his tail to the ground lessen. 

“Chat!” Patchwork struggled against Ladybug's hold and he made sure to waste no time. Thankfully there was only one thing she could be requiring of him at the moment. 

“Cataclysm!” he darted forward and balled up the creature's sweater in his fist.

The scratchy fibers that made up the tattered coat crumbled under his grip—if Patchwork had a voice something told him she would have started screaming.

But she didn't, so she couldn't. 

The doll Akuma fell to the ground, like a puppet without its master. Ladybug sighed in relief as she let the doll go, squinting into the night for the Akuma now freed from its vessel. He focused in on it almost instantly, and was able to point it out for his lady to purify, waiting for Ladybug's final spell to be cast.

“Good job!” he chanted in unison with Ladybug as her fist met his. Patchwork faded between the two of them, revealing a little girl with long brown hair, wearing a pink sweater with a little shooting star on the front.

Unlike most civilians turned back to normal, Patchwork was asleep. The stains of dried tears scattered along her rosy cheeks and her knees were pulled up to her chest.

“Whoa!” He crouched to the ground, Ladybug right behind him with a small 'oh gosh', and she gently shifted the girl's head into a more comfortable position. Oh, his lady was so thoughtful. 

Gently, making sure she didn't startle her, Ladybug shook her shoulder. The little girl opened her brown eyes and furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Wh... wuzgoinon.....?” 

Slowly, her eyes drifted from Ladybug to Chat, confusion heavy on her features. He smiled as kindly as he could down at the little girl.

“We just got you out of a.... sticky situation.” He snickered at Ladybug's annoyed grunt and offered the little girl a hand. “You should probably go home—there anyone you can call for a ride?” 

The girl looked around, dark uncomprehending eyes focusing on the both of them, even as she accepted Chat's hand and was pulled to her feet.

“I recognize this street.” 

She leaned over and wrapped her arms around Chat's waist, though this didn't seem to be in celebration or thanks, it was just how she was. She seemed like a girl that punctuated every goodbye with a hug, as easy as breathing. She turned around and did the same to Ladybug before racing off into the night.

“So what, are we just gonna let a small child run home with no explanation?” Ladybug raised a brow at him and he grinned back at her.

“I can _tail_ her. Though you shall be on my mind all night, my lady!” 

Ladybug playfully rolled her eyes and he could hear the telltale beep of another of the dots on her earrings vanishing. 

“Sure, sure. See you later, Chat.”

“ _Cat_ ch you next time!” Her aggravated groaning followed him well into the night as he hopped across buildings, making sure to keep his gaze trained on the little girl running home. He blithely ignored the first two beeps from his ring. She ended up shimmying up the drainpipe to her house, and even though he'd tried to keep silent, he wanted to interrupt the girl to ask if she was alright.

But no.

She slipped back into her room—his heightened hearing could pick up her window opening— but there was nothing else. 

No yelling about where she'd been, nothing. Like nobody had even noticed she'd been akumatized and had been gone for... God, how long had that fight been? At least a couple of hours.

The third paw print on his ring beeped, but it took him a long moment before he remembered to head home.

His window was open, just as he'd left it. The house from his vantage point was silent as ever. His father's room was on the other side of the manor, but if the slight glow he could see from the trees on the far side of the yard meant anything, he was still awake. 

He jumped through the window just as the last light on his ring faded, the shrill beeping making way for the rush of wind that signified his transformation undoing itself. 

Adrien bit back a long yawn, Plagg, on the other hand, had no such qualms and yawned loudly.

“You'd think Hawkmoth had nothing better to do than try and run us down!” his kwami complained as he drowsily floated toward the mini fridge in his room; there was still about half of a wheel of Camembert in there, and as usual, Plagg found nothing wrong in a snack before bed. 

“Well, it's working.” Adrien griped back, kicking off his shoes with a grunt and barely taking the time to lazily toss off his outer shirt as he strode across his room to flop into bed.

The mattress was as fluffy as ever, and the sheets were soft and cool. And maybe he should have known better than to sleep in his clothes, especially considering said clothing included skinny jeans, but he'd deal with the indention marks tomorrow.

The little girl that Patchwork had turned back into wasn't the only one that could stay out for hours and come home with nobody noticing—and honestly, he'd definitely rather get some sleep instead of thinking on that too hard.

“What's eatin' ya kid?” Plagg mumbled around a mouthful of cheese, and Adrien only took a second to imagine all the gross cheese specks flying to the floor before he sucked it up and blearily answered.

“Most Akuma are from one off things, her sit—her situation isn't any better than before.” It took a startling amount of willpower to not slur his words as he spoke, but he supposed that just attested to how tired he was.

“Well, not everything can be solved with Lucky Charm, huh?” Plagg, apparently finished with his midnight snack, (or rather 2 AM snack if his clock hadn't been tampered with) plopped himself down on the pillow beside his head. “Hopefully realizing that she became an Akuma tonight will be a sign that she needs to talk to her family about what's going on back home, huh?”

Adrien reached out and gently patted Plagg's head with a finger—his movements were slow, of course, and he could already feel himself drifting away to the point where, when his hand fell and landed on his Kwami's tail, he barely heard the grunt of displeasure before he'd fallen asleep.

* * *

_The weather was that strange mix of warm and cold that happened sometimes. A chilling breeze swept through the air, but the temperature itself was surprisingly warm for night. And while that did mean he didn't have to put on a jacket or take off his outer shirt, he did kinda wish the weather would make up its mind about what temperature it wanted to be._

_He was enjoying some time on a rooftop somewhere in town. He couldn't tell exactly where he was but he could see the Eiffel tower a few buildings away in distance and the Seine somewhere to his right._

_“Lovely night, huh?” He asked Ladybug, leaning heavily on his knees and staring out at the lights._

_It truly was a lovely night. One he was ecstatic to be sharing with his lady._

_“It really is, Adrien.” she answered, smiling at him over her dark bangs. Her blue eyes lit up like stars against the city lights, and they absolutely popped against her mask._

_Now that she knew who he was, now that they could spend time like this with her seeing him as he truly was... Not just Adrien, not just Chat, but as both. She looked at him the way others said he looked at her._

_He reached over and took her hand in his own. The material of her suit felt slick. Sort of like his, but his suit had a velvet feel, as though it were trying its best to emulate cat fur. Her's was like armored spandex—cool, stretchy, and almost scaly to the touch._

_Honestly, he was so happy to be her partner in crime... as well as her partner in romance. She smiled at him and his heart did a little jump in his chest._

_She finally caught him staring and chuckled slightly, the slightest hint of a blush appearing around the edges of her mask._

_“Do I have something in my teeth or something?”_

_“Nothing of the sort...” He smiled a bit. “You're just so_ purrr-recious _, I can barely take it.”_

_He winked at her and expected quite a few reactions: rolling her eyes, punching his shoulder lightly, making a quip about how cat puns only work when he's transformed._

_She snickered and his heart jumped into his throat._

_“Silly kitty.”_

_She started to lean over, and he was worried that his brain might shut off for a long moment when she gently pressed her lips to his cheek._

_He wondered distantly why he already somewhat knew the feel of her lips, but his thoughts were a touch far away._

_How could they not be? Ladybug,_ his lady, _was kissing him! On the cheek, sure, but..._

_He really didn't wanna wake up from this dream._

It's always when you think things like that that you wake up.

* * *

He'd nearly fallen asleep into his breakfast a good three times before Nathalie began to recite his schedule for the day. 

He'd thought that with such a nice dream the night before it would have meant that he would be nice and rested for the day, but...

No such luck.

His head felt so heavy that if he weren't supporting it with his forearm, he would be unsure of if he would have been able to keep it upright. 

Nathalie's voice steadily faded into a strange buzzing noise as he slowly stirred his cereal in circles. 

The details of his dream were already starting to get fuzzy on the edges—he remembered it was him and Ladybug, she... ah...

She laughed at one of his jokes, didn't she? He remembered because he remembered how excited he was, even if it was only in that distant way that you can feel things in a dream.

Were they on a rooftop somewhere? He thought so, but he couldn't remember where.

And wasn't that the kicker? You can never remember dreams after you wake up.

There were times when he really wanted to tell Ladybug who he truly was, show her who he truly was. Not just Chat Noir, not just Adrien Agreste.

He was her partner in justice as Chat, a friend. Someone whom she'd causally turn down and jokingly call annoying (no matter how many times it stung, he'd keep trying.) But he knew better than to take that sort of teasing to heart; his lady simply had a very dry sense of humor and his more overt jokes weren't likely to land with her. 

They trusted each other though, that was what mattered. No matter how many times his unluckiness had forced him under the thrall of an Akuma, she trusted him with her life as much as he trusted her with his. 

And as for his relationship with her as a civilian? Well, it was no secret he was a massive Ladybug fan. Nino had teased him more than once for doodling her image in his blocky, untalented style into the margins of his notes.

He'd rarely spoken to her as Adrien, but for the most part she seemed a little...

Well... kind of nervous actually....

Almost like how she was when crowds gather to congratulate the two of them. Which was weird considering how his lady spoke with other civilians one on one, but it was probably because he was... well... kind of well-known. 

And since his theory about her being close to his age hadn't been proven wrong yet, he was hoping that that was it. As a civilian he was just something relatively close to famous and that's why she would act nervous around him.

It made sense.

The idea that even his lady could be intimidated by his so-called 'status' (and he silently thanked Chloe for giving him the word, because he wasn't sure what else to call it) wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, but it made sense.

“Adrien? Have you been listening?” He jumped at the sound of his name and grinned sheepishly at Nathalie. 

“Sorry Nath, I, ah... I didn't get a lot of sleep last night.” Her lips pinched to the side but she sighed and tapped a few buttons on her tablet. 

“I'm sending your schedule to your phone today.” He nodded thankfully as she began to turn to walk away. 

But then, right before she did, she turned back around and reached into her bag.

“Oh, and this was in the mail today, addressed for you. It's been checked for potential dangers and came back clean.” She pulled out a little... was that a doll? 

He offered his hand out to accept the little thing and it was, indeed, a doll.

A little doll that looked.... well... exactly like him. For a moment it was actually startling, though that was probably just the lack of sleep kicking in. 

But honestly, it really did look a lot like him. It had his striped shirt and white button up—there was a little fleck of silver paint on its hand that he was sure was supposed to be his ring, the messy yellow yarn that was used for his hair was the exact same shade as his own.

Its little button eyes were the only thing that kept it from honestly looking like a carbon copy of himself. They were black, though he was sure if whoever made it didn't have access to glass eyes, then green buttons would have probably looked even odder.

So... a fan of his made him a little doll and decided to send it over... A Petít Adrien for the real Adrien.

It was actually really cute when he thought of it like that.

“Pssst!” His thoughts were interrupted once again, this time by Plagg hissing into his ear.

“Put that creepy thing down! You're gonna be late!” A quick glance at his phone sent a panicked jolt through his gut at the confirmation that yes, indeed, he'd be late if he didn't leave. 

He stuffed the little doll into his bag in the rush, thankful that at least the Gorilla was already waiting in the car by the time he'd gotten there. 

His nerves at finally being late for something other than superhero-ing sent a bolt of adrenaline through his body, finally waking him up completely and sending all thoughts about the little doll in his bag right out of his mind. 

It really was too bad he wasn't allowed to get to and from school on his own, as this would have been a reeeeaaallly nice time for some Chat Noir speed. 

Alas, they hit far too many traffic lights for his nerves. 

But at least, _at least_ , he made it before the bell rang. Within seconds of it, sure, but he was in his seat, huffing for breath, and Ms. Bustier simply sighed in good nature and started the lecture.

Adrien gently placed his bag on his lap and opened it to pull out his notebook, only to surprise himself when his little doll peeked up at him with its shimmery button eyes.

“Forgot about you...” he mumbled quietly. He felt more than saw Nino lean against his chair to peek into his bag.

“Whoa, mondo spooky...” 

Adrien huffed out a quiet laugh and gently placed the doll onto their table as he rummaged around in his bag. Thankfully, his pencil case wasn't too far buried beneath his books, and neither was his notebook. 

“I just got it this morning; I guess a fan or someone must have sent it.” He smiled slightly at Nino. 

“What the heck is that thing?” Alya leaned over her own table and whisper urgently to the two of them. 

She was eyeing the doll with nothing short of trepidation, and Marinette leaned over just a little behind her, and unlike the ever-questioning Alya, Marinette didn't say a word. She just sort of alternated between looking at the doll and looking at him, as though she didn't want to chance saying something and getting in trouble. 

Which made sense—Marinette did have volume problems, and she _did_ get in trouble for showing up to school late. Neither of those things were bad of course! It was actually kind of endearing, but in this case he was thankful.

Somebody put a lot of work into this little doll and he'd hate to have it confiscated. 

“I dunno,” he whispered back, “somebody made it and decided to send it to me. I think he's pretty cute...” 

Marinette smiled then. 

“Yeah, y-you're adorable..!” His eyes widened and she was all too quick to correct herself. “I-I mean, _it_ is! Its adorable! It just, ah... It j-just looks like you! But that's not to say.. uhm...!” Her voice climbed a little bit but Alya, thankfully, put a hand on her shoulder and quickly settled her down before Ms. Bustier decided it was necessary to intervene. 

He chuckled quietly before the lesson took back his attention. 

Throughout the course of morning classes he didn't spare much thought towards the doll. It was still there, resting on the side of the table, and at some point it had fallen over to look out into the class with its shiny little button eyes. 

Once afternoon break started, the spotlight was on his little gift once again. Chloe walked up to his table and lifted the little thing in a hand, a sort of exasperated confusion on her face.

“Adrikins,” he winced a bit at the pet name, and he saw Chloe's eyes flicker to his expression before shifting back to the doll. “Who made this for you? Marinette?” She chuckled as though at a joke. “She didn't exactly do a very good job, these buttons are sooo tacky compared to your stunning eyes, and not to mention she messed your hair up!”

She tossed it between her hands. He held his hand out to take the doll back, but before he could Marinette, herself, spoke up.

“I didn't make it, Chloe.”

He turned to her to shoot her an apologetic grin, but she only had her gaze on Chloe, pink lips pinched to the side and blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. “But _someone_ did, and they clearly worked hard on it. Let's see you make a doll from scratch before you start criticizing how other people make things.” 

Chloe glared back at her and dropped the doll back into Adrien's open hand.

“Ugh! Whatever; I could pay someone to make a far better doll than this.”

“I like him,” Adrien finally was able to get out. 

He held the doll a bit closer to his body and could only chuckle a little bit when the two of them looked at him. Chloe's startling ability to hide her emotions came into the fray as her surprise quickly tampered into the hollow disdain she faced the rest of the world with, and Marinette's cheeks pinked a bit in obvious embarrassment. 

“Marinette's right, somebody must have worked really hard on him.” He then carefully placed the doll in his bag and stood up to leave. And he'd hoped it would be left at that, but alas—

“Oh, Adrien! You're so noble!” Chloe swung her arms across his shoulders as though she were swooning, and Adrien was briefly reminded of their childish games of knights and princesses before she spoke again. 

“Even ugly little duckling dolls are worth your attention. Such a pure heart you have!” 

Adrien sighed and gently pried Chloe's arms off of his shoulders.

He knew this was the persona she needed to execute for the sake of surviving in the public eye, he knew that the Chloe he'd seen in private while growing up was the real Chloe. But as he was seeing her, more often than not in public, it was getting harder and harder to remember.

“Uh.... thanks...” he trailed off a bit and nodded at Nino when his friend called out to him from the doorway. At least now he was able to go, so he gratefully extracted himself from the situation and darted over to Nino's side.

“Thanks man...”

“Dude, I still don't see why you put up with her.”

Nino shook his head in exasperation, and Adrien couldn't help the small smile at his worry. Nino really was a great friend.

“She's... Well she used to be a lot different when we were kids.” If anything, at his admission Nino looked even more concerned. 

“So, what, it's a 'you grow up and your heart dies' situation?” 

Adrien chuckled a little at the summation, but some part of him couldn't help but agree.

“It's not like that. I'm sure she can be that kid again. But... like... there's a lot of stress that goes on with being a famous person's kid. We all deal with it differently. Chloe by pushing other people away and me with-”

“And you with puns... so, so many puns,” Nino finished up for him.

He rolled his eyes and tapped his friend on the back of his backpack, and while Nino was turned he swiped his hat from his head.

He stuck his tongue out at Nino when he turned back.

“You leave my jokes alone! I _Ni-Know_ no better way to pass the time!” 

He smirked playfully and held his buddy's hat out for him. Nino laughed and snagged his hat back when he turned back around—firmly planting it on its rightful place atop his head before sticking his tongue out at Adrien.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah....” 

“Aww come on, don't be like that. You make any new synths lately?” Nino perked up at that, and Adrien barely had time to adjust his grip on his bag before his best bud had pulled his headphones off and thrust them in his direction.

* * *

Petít Adrien remained in his bag for the rest of the day. Sure, at times when he was opening his bag to retrieve a book or another stick of graphite for his pencil, the little thing could be seen—its black eyes shimmering strangely up at him—but Adrien tried his best not to let it be seen again. 

He liked the little guy and he'd rather not have it get confiscated because Chloe decided it was 'too creepy,' or Kim decided to tease him for it—either of which would definitely make the cute little doll a 'disruptive force'.

Psssh, it wasn't his doll's fault that this kind of stuff happened sometimes. They were all teenagers here! They got distracted by strange things sometimes! 

All the same, he'd rather not take the risk.

Plagg was determined to hide in his outer shirt for the day—he didn't know what had his Kwami so on edge about the doll, and frankly, it didn't seem like Plagg knew either.

That wouldn't have been too bad... you know, if all he had was school, or even just a photoshoot, But today he had fencing after class was done. And he probably couldn't hide Plagg between his jacket and Plastron. 

Well... he probably could, but his poor kwami would probably be complaining the whole time.

“Please don't leave me alone with this thing,” Plagg whispered urgently to him, and Adrien tried not to sigh too heavily. 

“You'll be fine. There's still a chunk of Camembert in there for you.” Plagg did take a solid few seconds to consider the compromise, but instead of answering, he floated steadily downward into his bag, eyeing the little doll with trepidation.

“You know what, how about this?” He reached into his bag and pulled Petít Adrien out, showing the doll to Plagg and grinning slightly when his Kwami sighed in relief.

“Thanks, kid.”

“Yup.” 

Thankfully, his water bottle was just wide enough that he could make it seem like the doll was just an accessory, instead of a compromise with the ancient cat God that could make him a superhero.

His locker door shut with a clatter and he carefully got ready for practice, Petít Adrien staring onto the fencing arena with its still grin, black button eyes shimmering in the light.

* * *

The flowers smelled differently around dusk than they did in the early morning. That much was certain—in the years before his entrance to public school he'd taken to memorizing the details of his home during the small hours when he was bored and had finished with his lessons for that day.

One of the things he'd always noticed was that in the middle of the day, the flowers in the yard would often have a cloying air to them and the heat would make it all the more intense.

In the morning all that there generally was, was the smell of cold. The sharp, nose stinging scent that people acted like didn't exist. 

In late afternoon, as the sun began to warm the world up, the flowers released their fragrances into the world, and in the summer that was emphasized by the heat in the air; it would sweeten the normally lovely scent of flowers until it was a struggle to go into the garden at all.

And then, once the sun began to set, and the heat started to fade—when the petals started closing down for the night—that was the best time for the flowers; when their scent was a light, breezy thing. Just barely a hint of fragrance in the air and the heat of the day tempering into a gentle warmth.

He'd plucked a lovely pink carnation from the garden, twisting the stem between his fingers as he took his time in getting back inside. The house would be as silent as usual, with the clean smell of nothing heavy in the air—a thick odor of its own. The gloomy, mourning portrait would be the first thing he'd see, and honestly, there were some times where he'd really would just rather _not_.

But eventually, and much to his disappointment, the Gorilla eyed him with his peculiar impassivity and raised one of his heavy brows, and, suddenly he realized that he'd wasted a solid fifteen minutes wandering around the garden, slowly shredding the stem of his little pink carnation. 

Adrien took a deep breath and tossed the flower to the side as he approached the door. The Gorilla nodded approvingly and once again he returned home to a near silent house.

Nathalie must have been off somewhere with his father because her quietly polite, 'welcome home' was as sorely missed as it usually was when the echoing thump of his footsteps was the only sound in the house.

But all the same, he waved the Gorilla off with a small 'goodnight' and climbed the stairs that led to his room.

Today wasn't a patrol day, so the only thing he'd have to worry about was his homework. Well that, and the fact that he couldn't look forward to meeting up with his lady, either. 

Give and take in that regard.

“Jeez, and here I thought you'd never leave that damn garden!” Plagg complained as he zipped out from the inside pocket of Adrien's shirt. Adrien smiled slightly at his little Kwami and sat down heavily onto his couch, his book bag flung onto the seat beside him. The TV in front of him loomed in a way that was difficult to describe as anything other than ominous;

And he wasn't sure what he felt like doing—listen to music or putting the TV on for background noise—as he worked on that paper that was coming up.

“What's up with you anyway, kid?” Plagg's grassy green cat eyes narrowed into slits as he looked him up and down, as though checking for any injuries or curses —or whatever it was that could be causing him to look off-kilter.

But what did he expect? Adrien got like... maybe three or four hours of sleep last night—he wasn't going to be as perky as normal with that! 

“I'm just tired, Plagg,” he insisted, his speech punctured by a small yawn. “I just wanna finish my paper so I can take a nap.” 

He rubbed at one of his eyes and Plagg huffed. 

“Yeah, but if you die let the record show that I asked.” 

Adrien cracked a small grin at Plagg and shook his head.

“Yeah, sure... you're the best Kwami a guy could ask for. I'm sure Ladybug's must aspire to be as caring as you.” He laughed when Plagg stuck his tongue out at him. 

“Sassy brat.” 

Adrien flipped open his notebook and pretended to give his Kwami the cold shoulder as he looked through his essay. Granted, it was for creative writing and not English, and the teacher very specifically wanted it to be handwritten—something everyone else in class would whine about, but he enjoyed; it hurt his wrist a bit, sure, but a nice kind of hurt.

A hard work hurt.

Finishing his essay was rather short work, all he was doing was talking about how one of his ancestors had been a respected corporal in Free France during World War II—something that already was out there granted that he, much like the family to this day, was Jewish—as well as perfectly fitting with the given prompt, 'A relative not in your immediate family.' After they turned in the essays they would also have to give a presentation on the relative in question, with at least one prop to help with the telling.

He'd overheard a few of his friends as they'd discussed their relatives. Chloe was doing a great aunt who, apparently, was some sort of medium; Marinette was doing hers on one of her Chinese relatives; Nino, his great-grandfather; and Alya's aunt was apparently a revolutionary.

It was kind of funny how family lineage could be that interesting. 

"Hey, Plagg, can I run this final paragraph by you? I wanna make sure it makes sense."

"What do I look like, your editor?"

Adrien stuck his tongue out at his kwami before standing and stretching his arms over his head. It was getting close to dinner time, if his clock was accurate, and he should probably get his prop for his presentation. 

"At least come with me to the basement, huh?"

"Why?" 

But despite the question and the wry look Plagg shot him, he did dutifully follow behind Adrien as he left his room and began to wander the halls. 

The echo of his feet hitting the tile made a sharp 'tac-tac-tac' noise, and as the two of them twisted around the hallways of his home, they eventually came to a bookcase at the end of a hall—seemingly, a dead end. 

"Wait, is that what I think it is?" 

Plagg didn't wait for him to answer and like a tiny black ghost he whizzed through the shelf and he heard his Kwami exclaim on the other side:

"It is! A secret basement! Your dad is such a weirdo!"

God, he hated going into the basement, but it was the only place with any of their old antiques. And if he wanted a damn good grade on this genealogy presentation, he would have to give it his all.

So he took a deep breath and felt around under a specific shelf until he found the small button that unlocked the secret door.

The bookshelf swung inward, the darkness of the basement immediately making his hackles rise. 

He felt a pair of eyes on him, but couldn't quite place where they were. It really sucked how his senses couldn't be heightened as Adrian as much as they were as Chat Noir.

"You coming or what, kid?"

He took a deep breath and smiled at Plagg before walking in to the darkness.

* * *

There was a special type of mustiness to an old forgotten basement.

A natural sort of eeriness that only dust compiled over at least a decade could form. It was only disturbed every so often to retrieve an old memento from days of yore, or to add a new box to the moldy pile of cardboard and wood already present.

The air was heavy and smelled almost like decomposing leaves, and the pale light from the lone bulb in the center of the room barely did anything to combat the darkness.

Adrien coughed lightly as he trod down the wooden stairs, he felt like this place should have been a lot cooler to him when he was younger—it was the only part of the house that didn't bother to adhere to the same futurist look his father had decorated the mansion with when he was barely old enough to tell the difference between his left hand and his right hand—

—but no, it was goddamn terrifying when he was little. And to tell the truth it was still a little terrifying now. 

In a way, being undisturbed by the decorations of the house above it made it feel even more terrifying than it should. It didn't really feel like it was a part of the house—the musty, rotting smell, the pale light and tall shadows, the same build and flooring it probably always had as the mansion was built long before his family even ended up here.

It felt like a time capsule, really. Like something from centuries ago that had been thrown into the modern age.

But he was here on a mission, and not the kind he would go on when he was little: running down the stairs, grabbing whatever he needed to and running back up, trying to catch his breath on the other side of the hidden door.

Sure, it was what he wanted to do, but he was Chat Noir for God's sake! He wasn't going to be intimidated by a damn room!

Adrien took another breath of the musty basement air and blazed down the creaky stairs, a particularly loud thumping noise echoed around the room when his feet met the stone floor.

Okay.... now to find what he needed to.

"So, what's the big deal with this corporal great uncle, anyway?" 

Adrien smiled slightly when Plagg's voice broke the atmosphere. He looked around the room, and sure, it was still plenty creepy—the shadows tall and hiding any number of dastardly doo-dads—but he was a superhero after all. 

"Great-uncle Lazarus Agreste was a Jewish corporal in Free France; I think we still have his medal down here somewhere...."

All of the storage boxes in the basement were sorted by the year they were put in, which was kind of dumb when you thought about trying to find something, sure, but nobody ever said that Paré knew how to sort things that aren't fashion lines. 

"It used to be on display in the hall, but Maman took it down." He hummed, a spike of familiar isolation sparking in his gut at his own, offhanded mention. 

His gaze flickered to the floor—for a solid few moments he'd been about to give up and go back up the stairs to try again later. 

But Plagg raised an expectant brow at him, and he was able to force a small smile toward his Kwami.

"Never really knew why," he added in as his gaze flickered back over the cardboard boxes. He was about five when it was put down there, right...? So that would mean it was....Aha!

The 2005 cardboard box stared at him from just behind the Christmas decorations. 

He nodded to himself, a small smile creeping onto his face, and he nudged the plastic ornament container aside for the sake of the aged box behind it.

As he'd expected, the tape at that point was brittle, easy to peel away, and the cardboard sort of crumbling—Close to decomposing at its age; there was practically a cloud of dust that popped up when he opened the damn thing.

Thankfully, there wasn't much in there. Some photo albums he didn't have the nerve to page through, an old angel tree topper that had long since gone out of style, and...

"Aha!" 

Right beneath the angel was the framed picture he could vaguely remember. Pulling it out, it seemed like his five year old memories didn't do the real thing justice.

The only things he'd remembered about the memento of great-uncle Lazarus was the color of the background paper—a faded royal blue,—and the medal, still shining and polished bronze, a bright 'France Libre' glinting at him in the shape of the Cross of Lorraine.

But he'd forgotten that there was a commemorative letter to his service, and an old picture.

And he meant an _old_ picture. Instead of any picture of uncle Lazarus as he was while he served, it was, instead, a picture depicting his childhood; sandwiched between his older brother—Adrien's great-grandfather—and the little sister he'd been told died before the war even started.

Perfect.

"Okay, you got it, can we go now? This place is starting to weird me out." Adrien chuckled slightly and moved to stand, the framed commemoration tight in his hand.

"You said the same thing about Petít Adrien. Are you sure you're not just coming down with som—!!"

A loud clatter cut him off, the sharp ringing sound of metal hitting stone. Adrien, thankfully, did not yelp or flinch like a chicken but his left hand tightened into a fist, his transformation incantation on the tip of his tongue. 

Thankfully, as he looked around the room, his eyes narrowed, seeking something in the darkness—he and Plagg were as alone down here as they were before.

"It was this," Plagg chimed in, hovering into Adrien's view, holding—of all things!—a key.

Adrien lifted his free hand to take the offending thing from Plagg and hummed at how it looked in the pale light.

It had a long neck, like those old skeleton keys people have in antique houses—the kind that didn't evolve with the times like their house had. 

It was black, he would have called it cast iron if not for how light it was. The indentions on the key part didn't look like any he'd seen before, and the hand part—the part you hold while you turn it—was weird. It was filled into a black disk, except for four little holes in a square shape along the middle.

It looked almost like someone had strapped a black button onto the key.

Why was it here? All the locks in the house had been updated with the times, so there would be nothing that could be unlocked with such an old key. How did it end up in the 2005 box? It clearly had been stuck to the back of Uncle Lazarus' commemoration frame, but why wasn't it in one of the older boxes? The ones where someone would have more reasonably kept it?

"-ien? Adrien!" 

He startled out of his thoughts, Nathalie's voice cutting like a knife through butter. Quickly, he stuffed the key into the inner pocket of his shirt. He could hear Plagg grumble a little bit, but he leapt to his feet and began to trot up the stairs, eyes darting back down to Uncle Lazarus and turning off the light behind him.

"Yeah, I'm here Nath!" he called back, nudging the bookshelf-door closed with his hip and striding down the hallway. 

"I was just getting a prop for a school assignment," he explained, his voice carrying as well as it always did in this empty house.

"I see." There was an inquisitive gleam in Nathalie's eye, as though she were holding back about asking what he'd gotten from the not-so-secret basement. He smiled slightly and tilted the frame for her. 

"Just a prop. We gotta tell the story to the class and I like it."

"How fitting. However, if you're going to explore an untouched place like the basement, it would be smart to announce such a thing." 

He smiled at her and he could see the hard business look on her face soften, if only by a fraction. It was nice to be reminded that at least someone still was looking out for him in this house.

"I'll remember that next time. Is dinner almost ready?"

* * *

Even if he hadn't found that weird key, he'd have probably stayed down there until someone found him anyway. Looking through more of the old boxes, allowing himself just an evening of memory that didn't end with staring at pictures of Maman. Sure he'd wish her goodnight tonight, but she wasn't his only memory, and if ghosts were going to be his only company in this house beyond Plagg... 

Well, he was going to bring as many ghosts with him as he could.

But, alas, dinner was in fact almost ready. It seemed like he'd spent more time down there than he'd thought. So he geared up to spend yet another tense, quiet meal in their far too big dining hall; tonight seemed to be one of the few times where Paré could stand to share a meal with him, so the already quiet atmosphere was now emphasized with the addition of Adrien's own nerves. 

It was one thing to have a meal in a silent room if you were all alone, but another thing entirely when your parent is there with you. When people are sharing dinner in the same room, and they weren't in public, they were supposed to talk, weren't they? 

Halfway through the meal Adrien had an impulse.

"So I was looking through the basement for a prop for this essay I'm writing about great-uncle Lazarus." 

His father arched a brow, but didn't look up from the tablet that currently held his attention. Of course, he didn't tell Adrien that he was working on something, and should be quiet, ao Adrien took that as an indication that he could continue.

"I found this really weird key down there as well; I dunno, it seemed like it was stuck to the back of the photo frame." He reached into his outer shirt and felt Plagg hand him the cool metal key. His father didn't look up, so he extrapolated a bit. "It's really old looking, like some sort of 1800's thing, so it's really weird that I found it in the 2005 box."

"Perhaps it was Lazarus'," his father responded simply, finishing his dinner and beginning to stand. 

He didn't look up from his tablet once, just kept reading whatever it was that was so important, and wandered off in the direction of his office. Adrien sighed; he supposed he should be happy that his father had been listening to him, but... he wasn't.

Was it possible to be both ignored and listened to? Because that's how he was feeling, and it sucked. He heard Plagg grumble angrily again as he re-stored the little black key in his favored inner pocket, before finishing his own food and taking Uncle Lazarus with him to his room. 

Plagg darted away from his shirt the second the door closed behind them, zipping toward the waste basket that was his usual haunt, relaxing into the tissue paper Adrien had lined the basket with and sighing. 

"That stupid thing was cramping my pocket space," He complied loudly, and Adrien tried not to laugh as he approached his desk, peeking into the lid of the trash bin with a raised brow.

"Sure you're not just getting too fat and I need to find a new jacket?" 

Plagg gasped in mock offense before rolling his eyes and curling into the tissue paper. 

"As if a Kwami could get fat. Even if I were, fat cats are adorable; I've been on the internet."

Adrien puffed out some air in a "pfft" sort of noise and sat heavily on his desk, laying the frame of his great uncle onto the floor, ready to be scooped up for his presentation on Friday.

Adrien pulled the black key out again, turning it over in his hands as his brow began to furrow. 

"I wonder what this thing used to open...?"

"Who cares? The doors in this house are too high tech for it now." 

He hummed, placing the little black thing on the desk and turning on his computer. 

"Yeah, probably."

The clack of the keyboard and the click of the trackpad mouse were, at times, the only sounds in the room as he casually surfed through the web, keeping an eye on the Ladyblog in case any Akuma came up. 

But he didn't get much sleep last night, and with his essay done he had nothing else to do, so it wasn't very long at all until his yawns went from infrequent to constant. His sight went a little blurry as he read an article about the biological functions of the Deep sea anglerfish, and Plagg finally began to grumble, annoyed, and pull at his sleeve, insisting that humans needed to sleep.

So, with one last check to the Ladyblog, to be sure that it was a quiet night in Paris, he obliged. He changed into his pajamas, the red and black Ladybug inspired ones, and yawned. Before flopping onto his bed he glanced around his room; in the dim light of his nightstand lamp, he saw something glimmer at him from the arm of his couch. 

Oh! it was Petít Adrien! Of course. 

He chuckled, quickly darting halfway across his room to pick up the little doll. Its button eyes shimmered at him in the low light, and he patted the creature's yarn head with a few fingers.

"Oh, please tell me you're not gonna let that thing sleep beside your head," Plagg cried, and for a moment it sounded like he was actually distressed. 

But why would he be? It was just a doll—it hadn't done anything.

"Well, I wasn't, but then you said that, so frankly now I have to." 

Plagg groaned and Adrien snickered as he approached his bed again, Plagg hovering over to the little pillow Adrien kept on the bed that he'd claimed as his own. He carefully set Petít Adrien on the nightstand, making sure he was between Plagg and the doll.

"You're a tormentor, kid. Absolute worst kitty I've ever had." 

If he'd said it in a less brooding way, Adrien might have been a little hurt by such a hyperbole, but at this point he knew better. He patted Plagg's head and snuggled into the sheets; his Kwami was just bitter because he did something just to spite him.

The light went off when Adrien gave a light tap to the metal surface. 

"Goodnight, Plagg." Plagg grumbled, but at least answered.

"Goodnight, kid."

Adrien smiled slightly into the darkness, the moonlight already shining oddly into his room.

"Goodnight, Petít Adrien." 

Plagg's angry spluttering was quickly drowned out by his own laughter.

Petít Adrien stared over the two of them, its black button eyes seeing everything.


	3. A secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _It is.” she'd responded. “No one's really sure where it came from. It's as old as the mansion and Papa used to play games with it. But he lost the key a long time ago, so it's locked.” She emphasized the point by digging her finger into the small gap between the door and the wall and tugging..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this chapter kicked my ass. Hope it was worth the wait! and with luck the setup was the hardest part and the rest will be a lot eaiser
> 
> As usual, thanks to my beta newyorktopaloalto! A large portion of this fic would make zero grammatical sense with out ya!

_There was something about the sensation of wax that made skin feel... weird; if you held a crayon for long enough a bit of the residue would come off into your hand, and until it finally wore off onto whatever you had your hands on afterward, your hand felt that strange mix of sticky and slippery._

_It never really bothered Adrien—in fact, he sort of liked it. It reminded him that he was a kid. And sure he was a kid in the public image so he couldn't go to public school, and he only had Chloe as a friend, but still, he was a kid._

_And kids were allowed to sit in their mother's studio while she painted, scribble onto copy paper with crayons, and hum ditties to themselves. An idea that Adrien was all too happy to reinforce on this sunny summer day, a picture on his slightly wrinkled paper showing his family and himself in a dark forest. He liked drawing them all out and about—in meadows, different cities, forests, places he'd never seen much of in his long six years of life._

_He was humming a nonsense song, trying to keep up with the melody he could hear Maman singing to herself while she painted._

_But his melody was interrupted by a quiet squeak, and for a moment he thought it was his crayon—the high-pitched shrieking noise that came when you pressed wax on wax too hard—but as the noise continued even after his hand stilled, it seemed like that wasn't the answer._

_Eventually he was able to identify the mystery squeak as that of a mouse, and as though cued by his discovery, a tiny ball of white fuzz with a long tail scampered away from the corner of his eye. He looked up from his drawing, sitting up straight and looking in the direction of where the mouse had vanished. Since when did their house have mice? Papa was more than a little intense about keeping the house as spotless as possible. How could a mouse get a foothold in the walls, or wherever it was that mice lived?_

_“Adrien?” Maman looked down from her painting at him, and Adrien pushed himself to his feet, trotting closer to where he'd seen the little mouse scurry off to._

_“A mouse!” he chirped in response, looking around the immediate area until he stood beside a bookshelf that leaned against a wall._

_“A mouse?” His mother stood—she moved with such grace that sometimes when she was wearing long flowing dresses, Adrien was sure she was flying. She approached him, looking around and placing a warm hand on his shoulder._

_“Let's see... hmmm... Well I don't see any mice, but it may have escaped behind the bookshelf!” she smiled down at Adrien then, green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Mice love hiding in walls!”_

_He knew she didn't really believe him, she just thought he was playing pretend. But she indulged him and gripped the edge of the bookshelf, pulling hard. Adrien was excited for a moment to see what was behind the shelf—maybe that was were the mouse lived! Maybe if they caught it they could get a cage for it and he'd have a little mouse pet!_

_He was disappointed when there was no telltale squeak of a frightened rodent. However, Maman moving the bookcase for his 'game' did bring about a new discovery._

_His eyes widened when he saw it. Dropping to his hands and knees, Adrien crawled into the narrow space Maman made and marveled at the discovery. It was nothing he'd ever seen before, it was like he'd just stepped into a fairy tale! It was—_

* * *

Plagg cursing in a language he couldn't fathom rang out through his head like a gong. 

Adrien groaned, half tempted to ignore his kwami, roll over, and try to go back to sleep, but it seemed like Plagg wasn't going to stop any time soon; he slowly sat up and glared blearily at the little spot of pitch in his already dark room. 

“What?” he grumbled. Plagg's emerald eyes focused on him from his perch; hovering anxiously by the door.

“I swear I heard it!” he hissed, darting back and forth in the air as though to get a better vantage point.

Maybe he should just go to the bathroom really quick and leave Plagg to whatever it was he'd sworn he heard. But he was worried—he could see it in the twitch of his tail and the glow of his eyes, and so he bit the bullet.

“Heard what?” 

If it was something that was a possible threat, he would have woken Adrien directly, told him he needed to transform. But he didn't, so it likely bad enough to warrant Chat Noir.

“A rat! I swore I heard one!” Plagg shuddered, the tremble of his dark form making his tiny shadow dance against the wall.

Adrien yawned and sat a little straighter.

“You're delusional, There hasn't been a rat in this house since before I was born.” But even as he spoke he knew Plagg wasn't going to give up on this; he may as well just humor him. He stood up, reaching around blindly on his nightstand for his phone. His hand glided over the cool metal of the mysterious key, the plush yarn of Petít Adrien's hair, the base of the lamp... oh! There it was! He huffed and quickly unlocked his phone, smiling blearily at the bright image of himself and Nino making silly faces at the camera before activating the flashlight. 

“Fine, we'll go rat-hunting. Not like I could use the sleep or anything...” 

Plagg ignored his passive aggressive gloom and darted through the door, waiting for Adrien to follow him. He was pretty sure his kwami could see in the dark in the first place, so why he wanted Adrien to follow him in the first place was beyond his sleep addled comprehension. 

As he was just opening the door leading into the hallway there was a light 'thud' behind him, like a pair of feet jumping from his bed and landing on the ground. 

A shiver crawled up Adrien's spine, years of sneaking horror movies and videogames were finally catching up to him. For one dumb second he'd actually forgotten he was a friggin' superhero and seriously considered turning tail and running. Thankfully, that second passed and he reminded himself that he _could_ take on any evil monster or demon the world had to offer. 

So he whirled around, fist clenched tight and ready to pull Plagg back from the hallway and transform, when his light landed on what had fallen. 

Petít Adrien lay on the floor, as though he'd been there all along with the black button key resting a few inches away from its plush form. It seemed like it had thrown the key to the ground alongside it as it had fallen.

“Geez, you scared the heck outta me...” he huffed, and walked back over to his bed, gently lifting the doll up with his free hand before placing it onto his bed as though standing vigil over his room. “How'd you even fall?” The doll was silent—and really, what did he expect? dolls weren't well-known for their conversational skills (including the talking ones)--and stared up at him with its little black buttons. The light from his phone made them shimmer eerily, as though it were trying to speak to him. He shook the thought from his head quickly; it was a doll, not an Akuma. 

He crouched back down to pick up the key, however, unlike Petít Adrien's glimmering button eyes, it didn't shine in the light—in fact, it was the opposite. It might as well be made of the void itself in how the light refused to bounce off of it. 

“Kid, come on! We're losing it!” 

Plagg darted back through the door and Adrien yelped in surprise, scooping up the key into his free hand as he rushed toward the door. “Sorry! Sorry!” 

The house always looked so different in the black of night. When he was little it scared the living heck out of him; memories of the cold tile across his bare feet as he ran to his parent's bedroom in a blind, nightmare-fueled panic, and long shadows filled his mind for a moment as he followed his kwami's glowing eyes, angling the flashlight when needed.

“Are you _sure_ you didn't just dream it?” 

Plagg turned around with the express purpose of folding his arms and glaring at him, because apparently this rat hunt of his wasn't as important as judging him.

Which, what else was new? 

Adrien shrugged and began to follow the hallway. 

“Well, are we looking for Schrodinger's rat or what?” 

Plagg zipped past him at the reminder, a small 'right' chirped into the darkness. Tentatively he followed behind Plagg, while every so often his kwami would stop and close his eyes, as though trying to hear for something beyond Adrien's human comprehension.

At the very least they weren't going to inevitably wander around the whole house and run the risk of accidentally rousing his father. 

Plagg hummed to himself every so often, darting in and out of his flashlight's beam, listening in at the doors of empty rooms.

“Why are you so intent on finding this thing anyway? You don't even chase mice.” 

Plagg scoffed and darted away from the flashlight beam again, guiding Adrien down the hall that generally lead to his parents' offices. The lack of any light under the nearest door gave him at least a small bit of relief; his father had gone to bed some time ago, so at least he didn't have to worry about disturbing him while he was pulling an all-nighter.

He'd been doing those more often lately.

“I may not chase them like a flea-bitten stray, but that thing was squeaking in my ear all night! It's been driving me crazy!” Plagg snapped him out of his little tangent with his impatient words. Adrien bit back another yawn when Plagg darted into the darkness again—looking, presumably, down the end of the hallway and listening for the rat.

He jumped in place when Plagg cheered in triumph and after a moment he heard the sounds of a door being jostled open.

“C'mon kid! Get the lead out of your pants!” Adrien tilted his phone to the end of the hallway, toward the door to one of the storage closets around the house; if there really was a rat and Plagg wasn't just dreaming, then he was gonna bet that that was where said rat had taken up residence.

The polished wood door gleamed back at him, untouched and undisturbed, and maybe he was more tired than he'd thought because sure enough—moving his light beam to the side—he saw the opened door, Plagg hovering in the threshold with his ears flattened against his head as he glared at him impatiently.

Plagg was in his mother's studio.

“We are not going rat hunting in there.” 

He strode forward and gestured with his opposite hand for Plagg to get out. The heavy key still in his grip had grown warm from his body heat, something that, honestly, he'd forgotten about for a second there.

“You know, I've never been in this part of the house before...” Plagg commented idly, ignoring Adrien and looking around the moon lit room, a crooked smile in his voice and a playful glint in his eye. “This kinda place would totally be the best place for a rat to make a home.”

“There aren't any rats in my mother's studio, Plagg,” Adrien bit out, exhaustion and exasperation at this entire late night hunt quickly stoked into acute annoyance at Plagg disturbing one of the few places that had been completely untouched since her disappearance.

“One quick look then? Curb a kwami's paranoia and be nostalgic and sad or something?” His hand paused as he grabbed hold of the doorknob to close the door and cut the room back off from the passage of time—not necessarily out of consideration for Plagg's words, but more for the sight of the room itself.

He knew, logically, that the house only ran on recirculated air during lockdown and so, even though his father has instructed their maid not to touch this room, there wasn't much dust accumulation. He knew that more likely than not everything was completely untouched from the day she vanished until now. Some parts of him was expecting that the next time he opened the door to this room it would be full of the smells of acrylics, and his mother greeting him with a warm smile. Unfortunately, Plagg took his hesitation as second thoughts, and zipped even further into the room.

“It's probably way prettier when the sun's out, right?” 

His gaze focused on his kwami again, lips tightening back into a scowl. “Plagg come on, have mercy.”

Plagg chuckled and danced around in the empty space. “Come in here and get me, huh kid?” 

“Plagg!” 

Plagg's shining green eyes flashed in the light of Adrien's phone, something similar to worry on his face.

“Kid, you need to face this kinda stuff, I'm looking out for ya he-” a shrill squeaking noise interrupted Plagg. His eyes widened, and Adrien's gaze darted around the darkness of the room, waving his phone in as many directions as he could, looking for the source.

“Behind the bookcase!” Plagg insisted, and Adrien followed suit, the light shining onto the far wall.

Along the bottom shelf were mostly Adrien's old coloring books. There were a lot of them, ranging from farm animals to zombies, until along the very edge he caught sight of something pale and thin, curling around the side.

A rat's tail that vanished behind the bookcase within seconds.

“ _The stupid rat!_ ” Plagg hissed darting to follow the thing and wiggling himself behind the bookcase. 

Adrien, for a long moment, was too stunned to move. A rat—an actual rat!—was in their house. He'd been humoring Plagg at first, but it was something else entirely to see the worm-like tail writhe as it vanished behind the bookshelf. His legs took a second to engage—the shock at seeing a rat in what he'd assumed to have been the cleanest house in the country, honestly had him paralyzed for a moment. He cleared the room in a few strides, the padding of his bare feet startlingly loud against Plagg's grumbling as he approached the bookshelf.

Why was there a rat in the house? And in his mother's studio at that! Why not somewhere like a storage closet, or the basement? The places that could be damp or warm or full of things for a rat to make its nest. 

He turned his back to the side of the bookshelf, pressing his spine flat against the varnished wood. “How big is the mouse hole?” he asked, pushing against the bookshelf with his legs. Slowly, but surely, the bookshelf began to slide away from him, uncovering Plagg's glimmering eyes, staring at the wall. 

“Uh... that's the thing, kid..” 

Plagg hummed, and at that Adrien stopped pushing, raising his phone to shine on his kwami. Plagg's hand was raised to tap at his mouth; Adrien glanced down to the bottom of the wall to see what had him so perplexed, and for a moment he thought he was still dreaming.

Like something out of Alice in Wonderland, Plagg was staring at a little door. It was painted the same pale blue color as the wall, and the white baseboard was plastered onto the edge, as though whoever painted this room went to great lengths to make it disappear.

“What the...?” he murmured under his breath, and Plagg turned to him and gestured at it.

“Seriously? Secret basements _and_ little doors in the walls? I thought your old man was all about modernizing everything, not making the place into a murder house.” 

“That doesn't... How long has this been here?” he crouched down low, placing his phone on the ground to illuminate the whole room in its pale glow. From here the door went about up to his collarbone—he'd have to crawl to go through it. The edges were worn down under his feet—like it had been opened and shut a hundred times before Adrien had found it.

He heard Plagg joke behind him about how it had to be older than him, but he didn't really pay his kwami any mind. Something about this felt... familiar...

 

_“It's a secret door!” he exclaimed. A sort of surprise and excitement rushing through him; he heard his mother chuckle above him._

_“It is.” she'd responded. “No one's really sure where it came from. It's as old as the mansion and Papa used to play games with it. But he lost the key a long time ago, so it's locked.” She emphasized the point by digging her finger into the small gap between the door and the wall and tugging..._

__

...the door trembled a bit, but stayed firmly shut. Adrien tugged a bit harder, but the door refused to give in. You'd think, if it remained locked since Paré was a child, then it would have rusted to the point where it would break under the littlest force. But nothing of the sort. It remained as firmly locked as it apparently always had been.

His hand slid down the edge of the door frame until it reached the keyhole. It was the kind for an old-fashioned key, unlike anything that had been in their house since his birth. His gaze darted down to the black key still clutched in his other hand. It was so out of place with the rest of the house—just as this little door was—and it was hidden away in a place where people wouldn't look for it.

A fairy tale key for a fairy tale door. 

There was a bit of push back when he inserted the key into the door. Then a click that he felt more than heard, and though he hadn't even turned the key, it felt like the thing was about to unlock. 

It was almost reverent—the tremble of the key as he turned the lock—as though he were unlocking something momentous. 

And in a way he supposed he was. 

The key was stuck to the back of Uncle Lazarus' image, and while that had been in the 2005 box, it had been missing for far longer. Even his mother, who spent most of her free time in this room while he was growing up, had never seen the space between her office and whatever room this little door would lead to. 

Finally, the key stopped its path, a sharp click ringing in his ears at the door unlocking. This time when he tugged at the frame of the door, there was very little resistance as the door swung open.

A gentle breeze drifted into the room, tousling his hair and ruffling the collar of his night shirt. Plagg's rambling stopped then—he hovered beside Adrien and he could see the look of shock in his periphery. 

Adrien felt his jaw hang open at what he was seeing. He'd.... he'd been joking when he was referencing Alice in Wonderland earlier... he hadn't expected....

He hadn't expected a long tunnel—far longer than the space between the wall and the outside could be. It was lit up in purples and blues, giving off an ethereal glow that made him itch to follow it inside. 

On the other side of the tunnel, he could vaguely see the dark square of wood that made up another door.

“Am I still dreaming?” he asked shakily, and Plagg dazedly shook his head, green eyes wide and disbelieving.

“I've never sensed anything like this before... 

“This... isn't magic—at least, not any form of magic I've seen before. If it were magic, I would have sensed it when I first came to this place.”

This... this wasn't making any sense in his head—wires had been crossed and his brain was short circuiting. His mother's studio had a little door in the wall, hidden by a bookcase; the door was painted over as though it had been hidden; the key to the door had been lost long before he was born, but it was stuck to the back of a commemorative framed photo of one of his relatives from a box from 2005; Plagg woke him tonight with the squeak of an actual and literal rat in his house, which lead them to....

A portal? Would that be the right word? Like staring down the rabbit hole, there was a portal in his house, to who knows where.

“Well...” Plagg turned to look at him, and he hooked a finger into the pocket of his pajama pants, opening them for his kwami to fly into, “nothing ventured, nothing gained. If this turns out to be something bad, we can transform.” 

A weird sort of solemn look passed over his kwami's face. Granted how old Plagg was, he supposed to made sense that he'd be a lot more dubious about just waltzing into something like this; but it was still disturbing to see Plagg look so serious about... well.. anything really.

“Just be careful kid and call for Ladybug the second trouble rises.” 

Plagg zipped into his pocket at Adrien's light nod.

Well—he took a deep breath and bent over, picking up his phone and turning the flash off, before pocketing it too. 

The tunnel was soft to the touch—like some kind of silk, but... somehow strong? Strong silk—Was that a thing? It caved a little under his hands and knees, but it didn't give much resistance as he crawled through the passageway. Plagg shifted uncomfortably against his leg, and his phone rested heavily in his other pocket, Something built up in his chest, the in between of dread and excitement. He wasn't just exploring a place that hadn't been seen since before he was born, he was exploring something even Plagg, an all-experienced magical being, had never seen before.

Whatever this was, it was big. He was making paranormal history here.

The door on the other side of the tunnel looked a lot like the door in the wall. It was painted the same light blue, and had the same white wooden baseboard stuck to the bottom. But somehow it felt different. It was at once both the same door and a different one altogether.

At the very least, it didn't take much to open it—just the gentle nudge of his fingertips had the door slowly swing open. 

Open to see his mother's studio.

A blunt, strangled 'What?' slipped from his throat as he crawled out of the door frame. It was, indeed, his mothers studio. Completely unchanged. The only difference being the lights from the outer hall were turned on, casting the room in a dim glow. 

He patted his pocket for Plagg to come out, but his kwami didn't deign join him to help brainstorm what had just happened. He crouched down to glance back through the little door, and sure enough, it was still the long, glowing tunnel, with darkness on the other side. 

“What the heck...?” he huffed to himself, and only then, as though summoned by his words, the door to the hallway creaked fully open.

“Is that...? Adrien, is that you?” 

He jolted, back straightening and hands reflexively folding behind his back. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no... He was caught, caught in Maman's studio, one of the places they'd silently agreed to not set foot in until they were both ready.

And if it weren't for Plagg finding that rat, _he_ wouldn't have been ready, let alone Paré being ready.

Crap. He was done for. He was going to have to deal with his father slamming up the walls all over again—he'd thought, after Christmas, after Jackady, after _Collector_ , things might be getting better, if slowly. But now he'd messed things up and his father would end up being just as distant as he had been when Maman first vanished.

He took a deep breath and pivoted on his heel, turning to face his father in the doorway.

And his thoughts derailed. 

The person standing before him... wasn't his father. His father had eyes, and whatever else this being had to trick him, he couldn't mistake the dark pits in its head. 

“Who... who are you?” He asked, before quickly amending, “ _What_ are you?”

The thing with his father's voice tilted its head to the side a bit, as though an animal sizing up its prey.

The lights of the studio went on and Adrien flinched, reaching into his pocket to pull Plagg out by force. He wasn't responding to Adrien but if there was ever a time for Chat Noir—

“Adrien! It's really you!”

With the lights on, it was almost surprising how quickly the insidious feeling drifted away. 

The being before him was still clearly not his father, but the feeling of a predator of some kind immediately evaporated at the bright smile that it wore.

The black pits he'd assumed were marks of evil were more... out of a fairy tale. He had buttons sewn in the place of his eyes—sort of like a doll that had come to life. His face and stature were almost identical to his father's, but there was a stark difference in his outfit.

His father hadn't worn cardigans since before Adrien was born, and especially not in such a shade of lilac—and with, of all things, a _lavender_ undershirt peaking out from the dip in the collar. Before Maman vanished he'd actually preferred shades of blue, but nowadays he wore almost exclusively white and red. He actually didn't think he'd ever seen his father in any shade of purple, especially not two at once.

It didn't wear glasses, which made sense granted the button eyes and all, but other than its... different sense of fashion, it honestly simply looked like Paré had before everything had went wrong, before the shadows that no amount of concealer could fully cover up had built around his eyes, before he'd lost so much weight that when Adrien was watching closely he could see his wedding ring jostle around loosely on his finger. 

The thing that resembled his father before everything went wrong chuckled, his smile bright and warm in a way Adrien wasn't used to. But he didn't run as it came closer.

“Oh, I'm sorry if I frightened you. It's not easy to remember that this world can look strange to new people, I'm your Other Father, Adrien.” Other... 

“What?” 

“Your Other Father!” he repeated, as though such confusion were common place. But then, his smile widened and he surged forward. Adrien tensed, but before he could swing a fist out in defense, his 'Other Father' as it were, wrapped his arms around Adrien's shoulders and back, pulling him against his chest.

He knew what being hugged by his father felt like, he wasn't completely depraved of paternal affection or anything. But his father always found difficulty in expressing it, so hugs had always been few and far between, even before everything went wrong. Adrien had never taken it personally, his father didn't like being touched. Half the time he'd shrink away from Maman when she'd try as well, so Adrien knew it wasn't any problem in himself. It just made the times when he'd brave his own issues for Adrien all the more special.

So he knew what being hugged by his father felt like, and this wasn't the same. This was... it felt warmer. More enthusiastic than he could have ever hoped out of the real thing.

It felt safe. 

Adrien reached up and tentatively hugged the 'Other' being back. If he wanted to hurt him, wouldn't he have already?

The being squeezed him just a bit tighter before he pulled away, as though trying to make up for having to pull away. One of his hands slid atop Adrien's shoulder, and the other reached up to hover over his cheek.

“I'm just— _so happy_ to meet you.” 

It was hard not to respond to such clear, obvious delight. Adrien smiled back at the strange being in front of him, but before he could, far more cordially, ask just what was going on and where he was, realization of a kind dawned over his Other Father's face. The hand by Adrien's face fell to grip his upper arm in, what he could only call excitement.

“Oh! Oh my gosh! Your Mother will be so delighted to see you!” Adrien's voice may or may not have made a sort of squeaking noise at that.

“M....Mother?” His knees felt weak. Was this where his mother had been? This whole time? Maybe that was why the key was in the 2005 box when his father had lost it long ago, somehow she'd ended up here; was she stuck here? Had she been waiting until someone found her? 

His Other Father then darted behind Adrien, took his shoulders, and led him out of the room. It was a gentle push on him really, just something to let his legs do their thing. 

His head was spinning, every attempt to form a rational string of thoughts—to make a vague idea at what was happening—kept ending abruptly at the knowledge that his Mother had been here, in this Other Mansion, this whole time. And that he was about to see her again. Nothing made any sense, for all he knew he was still dreaming. 

One hell of a dream this was, if that was the case. A world where his father smiled so easily and greeted him with hugs, and the halls were lit with warm light, and his mother...

Maman... was here.... _how_ was Maman here?!

His Other Father let go of his shoulders, moving excitedly to push the door to the kitchen open. 

“Darling! You're never going to guess who finally arrived!” 

And there she was.

In a room that smelled heavily of sweets and pastry dough, the warm light of the kitchens lighting everything in an orange glow. Her hair yellow like his, back turned to him, but the silver suit that was once all too familiar to him was gone—replaced by a soft looking azure sweater and periwinkle skirt.

“Maman?” 

Her head twitched to the side, and she put down the whisk she'd been holding; it looked like it went down with force, but utterly soundless—though it could have been muted by the pounding in his heart. 

“Adrien, sweetie, is that you?”

Her voice. Perfect and ringing—almost musical, and Adrien's brain completely shut down.

Maman. _His_ Maman—it had to be. He felt a nudge forward at the small of his back, and honestly? He didn't need to be told twice. His feet almost went out from under him with how fast he was moving. He cleared the middle island of the kitchen in a single hop, and he distantly heard Other Father chuckle, but he didn't pay it any mind. He didn't care if it looked silly—why would he care if it looked silly? 

His arms locked around his mother's stomach, and it was _perfect_ He used to sneak up and hug Maman all the time; she felt exactly the same as she once did, and she leaned forward a little bit in surprise like she always did and squeaked in surprise and it was everything Adrien remembered—her smell her voice, her feeling. 

It was perfect. 

He felt her shift a little, turning in his arms so she was facing him. His face now pressed into her collarbone.

“Maman....” he murmured, his voice barely higher than a whisper. He felt her shoulder tremble a bit from contained laughter, he was sure he must be trembling too, though for a very different reason.

Her arms wrapped around him, but her words turned the warmth in his gut to ice.

“It's wonderful to meet you too, Adrien.”

His eyes snapped open. The soft blue of her cardigan glew in the warm kitchen light, and he could see over her shoulder to the counter. The whisk she set down rolled fluidly until it fell.

He didn't see it hit the ground, or hear it for that matter, but it must have happened; why didn't it make any noise?

“Mon Petít?” 

She petted his hair with her hand, and he could feel the slight catch from where her nails stuck to his hair, just a little bit. 

“....You... You're not....” He didn't want to know. He didn't want to confirm it, why couldn't he just stay here forever? Just curled into someone who looked and felt and sounded exactly like her? Why did he have to do this?

He pulled away and looked up at her—she smiled at him with that patient look that he could remember as clear as day, but the black buttons in place of her eyes shimmered at him and he could only feel hollow disappointment.

“My.... my Other Mother I suppose?” and really, what could he have expected? Of course there was an Other Mother to match his Other Father, he shouldn't have expected anything else. It was his own fault for not taking the time to really think about it. How would his mother have even found this place anyway? What, she found this place and got trapped here? If she had, then he would have been a complete idiot for nearly letting this place get his guard down.

Maybe he really was still dreaming. It would make as much sense as anything else. Perhaps there was some dream-based Akuma lurking around and this was one of its ways to make the people of Paris all the more miserable. Giving them what they want, only to take it away and leave people with their resignation.

That would explain why Plagg hadn't even tried to wiggle around in his pocket since he hid within. He wasn't actually there, because he wasn't actually in Adrien form right now. He was Chat.

He pulled away from the Other Mother, She tilted her head and looked at him in a way.... well... a way he couldn't quite describe. This wasn't his real mother, and he was probably being shaken back and forth by Ladybug somewhere, trying to be roused.

“Indeed I am. But Adrien, are you alright? You look... upset.”

“Dear...” The Other Father took then to step back into Adrien's periphery, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, honey, I think he's just a little overwhelmed. I didn't really get to explain anything to him.”

The Other Mother's frown faded then, replaced by a knowing smile. “Oh I see,” she agreed “this must all be so overwhelming to our little boy, huh?” The other Mother reached out again and put her hand on Adrien's opposite shoulder. 

He had to get out of here. She still looked too close, still sounded too similar. He wasn't sure if he could let his dream go if he didn't act now. He shut his eyes and silently, painfully, decided on what he'd have to do to escape.

“Sorry Maman, as much as I want you to be home, and as much as I want to see Paré happy again, I know better than to fall for an Akuma's trap.”

He took a deep breath to steady himself and placed his right hand on his Other Mother's shoulder.

“Cataclysm.”

* * *

He couldn't look. He couldn't watch as the inky magic of Cataclysm raced through the doppelgänger and make the world crack and fade. He couldn't watch as his fantasy world, just a little too good to be true, faded to dust. He couldn't watch his mother die. If there was any consolation to her just vanishing it was the fact that he never had to watch her wither away. 

He wasn't going to subject himself to that.

He dug his hand a little tighter into the shoulder of this illusion, and held his breath. He heard a gentle gasp, and he felt the Other Father's hands squeeze his shoulders a little tighter in response.

But the Other Mother didn't crumble to dust under his hand, and there were no faint sounds of battle coming in from the white noise. He heard her hum and felt her shift in his grip.

“Dear, you really didn't have time to tell Adrien everything, did you?”

His eyes snapped open, and sure enough, his costume hadn't come on as the world faded; there were no black tendrils of cataclysm that would have _should have_ spread across the Other Mother's face like a virus, the illusion world going with her.

He wasn't Chat Noir here. It wasn't an Akuma's trap. It couldn't be—or if it was, it got him before he was able to transform.

“I tried to, but I thought you would want to see him first, and then he sort of.... well...” the Other Father chuckled and if that wasn't weird to hear come from his father's voice....

He took his hand off of the Other Mother's shoulder, and she smiled at him as though he'd come to her about worries over thunderstorms.

“Adrien, sweetie, there are some things we should explain to you—why don't you have a seat? It's been awhile since you've had Crêpes Suzette, hasn't it?” When he didn't respond the Other Mother looked up at the Other Father, her lips pinching together and hastily jerking her head to the side. 

And then he was being led to one of the stools beside the counter. The Other Father quickly filled the stool beside him, leaning casually against the counter top and watching the Other Mother finish her work.

“Uh... yeah...” he might have said, though he wasn't quite sure. Everything seemed to be blurring just a bit at the sides, noises muffled from a high pitched ringing in his ear.

He wasn't actually transformed, so an Akuma didn't get the better of him and trap him in an illusion. He couldn't be dreaming at this point, not after so many moments of questioning if he was dreaming or not he was clearly lucid enough to tell the difference between a dream and a surreal reality.

But that... that would imply that this was real. That there really was a magical tunnel in his mother's studio that lead to a different world. A world where his father smiled as though it were the easiest thing in the world, and his mother made breakfasts in the middle of the night as though it were normal. A world where his mother was here at all.

The Other Mother spooned some of the batter into a frying pan—he couldn't quite hear the sizzle of the pan, but the steam rising from the stove-top showed it was indeed frying. 

“Dear, would you like to start fully explaining things? Our poor son must be so confused.” Adrien's eyes stayed locked onto the Other Mother's back as she worked, but he did note the Other Father turning in his seat to face him, leaning an arm heavily against the countertop.

“Adrien, what do you know about dimensions?” The Other Father ( _his_ Other Father? Other Gabriel? What should he call him?) gently grabbed his shoulder and Adrien turned to look at him finally.

“Uhm....” Adrien stuttered, unsure of how to answer, but the Other Father's smile didn't wane; his hand lifted off of Adrien's shoulder to rest against the counter top, assured that he had his attention now. “I know a lot of people think there's a lot of them, where different things happen.” His voice trailed off, unsure of just what the expected answer had been. But all the same the Other Father smiled a bit wider and leaned a little heavier onto his arms.

“That's great! Dear, did you hear that? He already knows a bit!” 

The Other Mother chuckled, flipping another crêpe onto a large serving plate.

“Indeed he does,” she answered, voice musical and airy. “Think of the Other World as another dimension Adrien.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her own black buttons twinkling in the yellow light.

“Right!” the Other Father continued, “Think of the Other World like... well, like a soap bubble on top of another soap bubble.” He lifted his hands to form a circle with one hand, the other hand tapping the edge of the circle and traveling around. “It exists everywhere and nowhere in your world, but gates to it can be opened when there's a child that needs us. If there's a child in the world that has an unhappy life, the door is opened and they come to their Other Parents to be taken care of properly.”

“Everyone has a pair of Other Parents, Other Friends, Other Neighbors—their need is what makes the world,” the Other Mother added in, a large stack of crêpes piled onto the serving plate which was then carefully placed between Adrien and the Other Father. “Not everyone goes through, because some children just aren't as curious as others. The worst most grumpy adults are the people whose doors opened, but they chose not to go in.” The Other Mother reached over the counter for him and tapped on his nose gently. 

“So wait... the Other World is like... a child rescue center?” That actually sounded kinda cool. Like... Other dimensions exist but one exists specifically to look after the children of this world. Maybe this really was a fairy tale. 

“In a way, yes.” The Other Mother.... His Other Mother carefully slid a few crêpes onto his Other Father's plate, then a few onto his, and finally a few onto her own. “The specifics are a little difficult to describe, but we've been waiting for you, Adrien.”

“Just wasn't the same without you!” Other Paré tacked on, smiling brightly as he happily began to cut into his food. Other Maman followed suit, though far more reserved—she nodded at Adrien's plate before carefully covering her crêpes in orange spread. 

The three of them spent a while just like that, happily eating, and despite the silence there was never a feeling of stiffness. They were all just enjoying the food and didn't see the need to punctuate it with words. It was the best meal Adrien had eaten in years. Even before Maman vanished, things were never this... comfortable. This peaceful. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but unfortunately, that triggered something in his system and he yawned. 

“Oh, Adrien. You must be so tired!” Other Maman hummed, hand resting over her collarbone in that oh-so-familiar motion.

“We should do something to wake you up!” she continued. Her brow furrowed and her lips pinched to the side as she thought it over.

“Oh!” Other Paré butted in, leaning excitedly over the table. “How about a game? All the good games need at least three players!” Other Maman lit up at the suggestion, her brilliant smile once again returning to her face.

“Oh, that's a wonderful idea, darling!” she chirped, fist falling into her open palm with a light smack. “Oh Adrien, you'll absolutely love our games!” 

She reached out then, grabbing Adrien's hands. For a moment he marveled at just how warm her hands were. Another yawn broke through the air, this one joined by the pull of sleep—it was his body intimately reminding him amidst the excitement that he was woken in the middle of a dead sleep not long ago.

“I, uh... I don't think a game will wake me up,” he said, “I should probably go back to bed.” And check up on Plagg for that matter. He'd barely felt the little kwami move since he'd gotten here.

“Oh, I see,” Other Maman responded, quickly—yet somehow silently—getting to her feet, followed shortly by Other Paré. 

“Well, now is as good a time as any to show you your room!” she chirped, putting a hand on his shoulder and ushering him toward the door.

The hall was lit up with warm light, just as it had been before, and maybe it was just his reemerged drowsiness, but it somehow felt even more comforting than before. Maybe he was just paying more attention this time.

“You don't have to do that,” he protested weakly, another yawn curbing his words, “I can go back to the normal world, it's okay...” 

Other Paré laughed as they continued down the hall, leaving the social wing and heading toward Adrien's room. 

“Not with those yawns you won't, young man,” he responded, quickly catching up from behind Other Maman and walking at Adrien's heels. “If we left you to your own devices, you might just fall asleep in the tunnel!” 

“I wouldn't!”

Granted, he did feel like dropping to sleep now that the adrenaline was well and truly out of his system—there was no way he was gonna defend his honor tonight. But soon enough there was only a door between his room and the hallway they stood in, and despite the slow beat of his heart, insistent on finally returning to sleep, there was a nervousness he couldn't quite shake. 

The house looked so similar to his home in the real world, but it also looked different. It was more welcoming, more homey. Whether that was in the yellow lights against the dark windows, or due to the context of this homier version of his parents, Adrien didn't quite know. But there was a small anxiety in wondering just how similar or different his room in this dimension looked. 

But Other Paré stepped in front of him and opened the door, and the idea of silently worrying about such a thing suddenly felt rather stupid.

His room looked, for all intents and purposes, exactly how it did back home. The lights were the same warm yellow-ish hue the rest of the house was lit up in, and his arcade booths were replaced with tchotchke shelves full of action figures and stuffed animals, but his computer was still there, his television loomed over him—and while in hindsight he wouldn't have really minded a change in appearance too much, it was comforting to know that for the most part his room remained the same. 

“Oh! That reminds me!” Other Maman yelped, quickly rushing away from her spot in the doorway, only to return a few seconds later with possibly the warmest looking afghan he'd ever seen. Without sparing him a moment of questioning, she'd carefully pressed the fluffy blanket into his hands. “There you are, sweetie,” she smiled, her black buttons glimmered warmly, and Adrien could only tiredly smile back. 

“Thanks.” He responded, walking over to his bed and laying the blanket across his lap. He was right about its warmth. It seemed to radiate its own heat for how it felt across his lap. Another wave of sleepiness washed over him, but he couldn't let himself drift off just yet; Other Paré dimmed the lights, and now only the smallest of glows filled the room. 

His Other Parents approached him then, and for a strange, almost surreal moment, Adrien wondered if he'd have to fight them off from tucking him in. 

Other Paré leaned forward and placed his hand on top of Adrien's head—ruffling his hair and smiling crookedly in the darkness. “Goodnight Adrien. We'll make sure to wake you up in time to get back to your world before school.” Other Maman patted his shoulder before taking his place in front of Adrien. When she leaned forward though, she bent down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Sweet dreams, sweetie. Come back whenever you want—we'll be here for you.” Though Adrien would deny it till the end of days he definitely teared up a little bit at the quiet reassurance.

He put his hand up to press against the place she'd kissed, as though he could brand the feeling into himself. When he woke up next he'd be escorted back home, a home without a real mom. 

“Thanks... I'll come back. I can promise you that.” Other Maman smiled at him in a way that looked almost sad, brows furrowed and hand pressed to her collarbone, and Other Paré put an arm around her shoulders and waved a bit to Adrien as he lead her out of the room.

“See you in the morning, champ.” 

The door closed softly behind them, and Adrien reached into his shirt pocket, where the velvety texture of Plagg's head scraped against his fingers.

“Can ya believe it Plagg? A whole different dimension! We're dimensional travelers!” Plagg didn't zip out of his pocket, didn't make some snarky comment, didn't even let out an obnoxious snore to imply he'd long since grown bored of this place. 

“Plagg?” 

He reached back into his pocket, this time gently grabbing hold of his kwami and pulling him from the pocket. 

If he was tired, Plagg was dead on his feet. His eyes were barely open, and when he looked up at Adrien weakly, he didn't get up from his sitting position, but his little whiskers drooped on either side of his head. He rubbed an eye with his nub hand, but didn't respond.

“Jeez Plagg, what happened? You look even more wiped out than that time there were three Akuma in a row...” Plagg huffed and nodded towards the head of the bed. For a long moment Adrien didn't get it, but he was able to figure out what Plagg meant quickly.

“Oh! Sure.” He lay across the bed to set Plagg on top of the pillow he didn't use. 

And then, still not answering him, Plagg made himself comfortable and fell asleep on top of the pillow. Not even giving him a single word response.

Adrien wasn't sure whether to be angry or worried, but frankly he was just a bit too exhausted to try to parse out either. So he lay the afghan on top of the bed and crawled beneath the covers. His bed was as light and fluffy as it was back home, and the blankets were just as warm and comfortable; he was asleep within minutes, his hand set over Plagg's curled up body...

...However, just before he'd drifted off he could have sworn he'd felt some pressure against his temple, a whisper in his ear, and the lightest of hands, gently stroking his hair.

_“See you soon.”_

* * *

He woke with the shrill beeping of his alarm clock. When his eyes creaked open, the first thing he noticed was the rain pelting his window and the watery dim light of the sun, still valiantly trying to shine through the dark clouds. Adrien yawned and stretched his arms above his head, the movement disturbing Plagg.

The Embodiment of Destruction yawned and sleepily hovered into Adrien's line of sight, rubbing his narrow eyes with his paws, and honestly, for a moment Adrien forgot about how much of a pain he was and just admired his itty bitty kitty—and he mentally patted himself on the back for such a terrible rhyme so early in the morning—Plagg really could be incredibly cute when he wasn't being a pain.

In bits and pieces the second dream he had last night came back to him. “I had a crazy dream last night...” he offered quietly as Plagg hovered in front of him, tired expression settling into his 'general disdain' resting face. 

“Kid, there's literally no dream that could have been crazier than—” 

Three sharp knocks to the door cut him off, and Plagg yelped and darted into Adrien's pajama pocket and Adrien busied himself with his morning stretches as the door creaked open.

“There's been a change to your morning schedule,” Nathalie stated, matter-of-fact as ever. “Due to the weather, the outdoor photo shoot today has been postponed until the weather clears up. However the indoor shoot at lunch hour is still on, so dress accordingly—”

“'Nothing that can't be easily taken off within a minute or so'” he finished with her. Smiling crookedly at the exasperated sigh she let out. “You know I know the drill, Nathalie, must get exhausting having to say that every time there's a schedule change by the morning.” 

He hopped from bed, waking his legs up with a full body stretch. “Guess I can take my time getting up though, huh?” 

Nathalie didn't deem it necessary to react to his suggestion, simply raising a brow before closing the door. All the same her voice carried through the wood. 

“You may want to use that time to arrive for class early.” she said, her voice muffled a bit through the door. 

Plagg was still grumbling angrily as he changed and did his stretches, but it was whatever. He could gripe his heart out once they got to school and he burnt some time in the library.

Of course, it was Plagg, so it wasn't like that was an option—though, to his credit, he did at least wait until Adrien was mostly ready for the day. 

“That little _adventure_ yesterday was horrible,” he groaned, sinking into his usual hiding spot under Adrien's over shirt. “I think that place exists in a magical vacuum or something.” Huh?

“You.... you mean that weird dream?” 

wait—he didn't tell Plagg about his dream; it was weird that he remembered so much of it sure, but he'd thought that he was just getting a better memory...

“'Dream' my left antenna, kid. I mean that 'Other World'—I couldn't talk, I could barely move, it sucked!”

**Author's Note:**

> It is not my fault that Adrien's family life makes for the perfect Coraline Story. Now, this won't be an exact retelling, but hopefully, it'll be an adventure anyway.


End file.
